


Door Dashing Through the Snow

by deinvati



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, COVID Compliant, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Secret Saito Gift Exchange, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/pseuds/deinvati
Summary: Now more than ever, we’re all in this together. In these trying times, we’re settling into the new normal. And Arthur is tired. He’s sick of 2020 and he just wants a god damned burrito. (And maybe something to look forward to.)
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 29
Collections: Secret Saito 2020





	Door Dashing Through the Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitt3nz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitt3nz/gifts).



> My thanks to the fic wives for reading this over and letting me know if it was going in the right direction, as well as fixing my commas and my duh. (Full disclosure: any remaining duh is mine.)
> 
> Prompt: Joyful  
> Happy Holidays, Kittens! I hope yours was amazing!

" _Eames is approaching with your order. Enjoy your meal!"_

Thank god. Arthur was starving. He'd worked through lunch and was starting to get lightheaded. He needed to eat, and soon, or he would not be responsible for his actions. He'd read an article that said contactless deliveries were deemed fairly safe, considering. Besides, god damn it, he deserved this.

His doorbell camera showed a man, cute and built, climbing out of a Dodge Omni hatchback that he'd parked in front of the mailbox. However, Arthur was so distracted by his stupid elf hat—complete with pointy ears—that he almost didn't notice his hands were empty.

The doorbell rang and Arthur stepped away from the screen to lean his ear up against the door. Nothing. He moved back to the screen in time to see the man ring the bell again, and then lean to try and look through the windows.

Arthur frowned and fought the urge to immediately draw his curtains.

"Hello?" came a British accent shouted from the other side of the door. "Special delivery for Arthur Condon?"

What the fuck? Dude wasn't even wearing a mask. Arthur was definitely going with GrubHub next time.

"Uh, I asked for contactless delivery?"

"Ah, come on, mate, it's bloody freezing out here!"

Sure enough, the doorbell camera showed him rubbing his hands together and slapping a significantly defined chest. Arthur stuffed down his inclination to tell him that if he'd wear a coat instead of a Christmas-themed sweater, he'd probably be fine.

"Just leave it on the doorstep, thanks," Arthur shouted through the wood. What a dumbass. He wasn't going to get COVID just because the delivery driver was cold, thank you very much.

The man—Eames, if people gave their real names on these apps—sighed loud enough that Arthur could hear him, and took a step back.

"Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree for me

Been an awful good girl, Santa baby,  
so hurry down the chimney tonight."

What. The actual. Fuck.

Arthur blinked and then blinked again, but the singing continued. He watched the monitor and, yep, sure enough, there was a sexy shimmy that went along with it. Arthur rubbed his tired eyes.

"I just wanted a god damned burrito."

When the man, _Eames_ , his brain reminded him, reached for the hem of his detestable sweater and started to remove it, Arthur yanked open the door so fast he almost hit himself in the face.

"Excuse me, what is going on?" he asked, ignoring the strip of fuzzy stomach that was still showing.

"Oh, hello, darling! Aren't you lovely then! Going to let me finish this next bit inside? It can be as contactless as you want it." He smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, and Arthur scowled.

"I ordered a burrito. Carne asada, with guac, and I definitely would have remembered asking for a side of men who make questionable fashion choices and then rectify that choice on my porch."

Eames' face when a bit slack and then he scrunched it up good-naturedly. "Ugh, this is a bit embarrassing. Explains why that last bloke was so disappointed in his burrito."

Arthur's heart sank.

"So does that mean you _don't_ have my burrito?"

Eames spread his hands apologetically. "Sorry, darling. I work two gigs right now, and I must have crossed the deliveries. But I can just rush right back and explain what happened, and I'm sure they'll make you another!"

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, that'll take forever. I need to eat now. My blood sugar…" Arthur waved his hand. "Never mind. Just…charge it back to my card or whatever."

Eames, for what it was worth, looked distraught. "Aw, love, I feel terrible. You sure there's nothing I can do? What if I come in and make you something? I'm a fair cook."

Arthur wanted to laugh but didn't want to encourage him. "That's...really not necessary. There's a pandemic, remember?"

Eames grimaced. "Would it help if I told you I've been tested and I'm clean?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "How many, hmm, _deliveries_ have you made today?"

Eames gave him an uneasy smile and Arthur shook his head. "Thanks anyway. Oh, and you should probably go give the last guy his lapdance."

Eames laughed at him, light and flirty. "Excuse _me_ , Arthur Condon, carne asada burrito with guac, I am a _Krismas Kissagram_."

Arthur nodded seriously. "During a pandemic. Well, I am impressed. You did an excellent job with both the kissing and the burrito. I'll be sure to give you five stars."

Eames, unbelievably, leaned in, still grinning. "Does that mean you want the kiss?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Pandemic," he singsonged, and shut the door safely between them.

The doorbell camera screen showed Eames taking off his elf hat and scratching his hair, which was sticking up adorably in all directions. Then he made his way dejectedly back to his little car. Arthur sighed and went to see if he had any saltines left.

About fifteen minutes later, his doorbell rang again.

The camera monitor showed Eames's face, covered with a mask this time, holding up a plastic bag before giving a thumbs up and hooking it on the doorknob and then waving goodbye. Arthur watched him drive away before he approached his own door, cautious but ultimately too curious to do anything but look in the bag.

There was a burrito from the corner gas station, a bag of beef jerky, and some sour apple gummy rings.

With a wry smile, Arthur closed the door and brought the bag to his dining room table. He took each item out of the bag and lined them up, and noticed there was a note in the bottom of the sack.

" _Darling_ ," it said, like Eames didn't know his name, " _they didn't have guac at the gas station, which is probably just as well, but this was the only green thing in the store. I hope you can forgive me!_ "

Arthur was, against his better judgment, charmed. He was also still hungry, and his stomach growled as he looked at the questionable gas station fare.

"Fuck it," he said out loud to the empty room. Then he headed to the kitchen to nuke a burrito.

* * *

" _Javier is approaching with your order! Enjoy your meal!"_

Arthur tried not to feel a stab of disappointment as the text message informed him his food delivery was imminent.

He'd given Eames a glowing review, something he almost never did, and when he entered in what was technically his second DoorDash order into the app, he'd repeatedly reminded himself that he probably wouldn't get the same delivery driver. Who knew how these things worked? Possibly Eames only delivered from certain restaurants. Or certain days of the week.

But he still felt surprisingly let down when Javier was both prompt with his order, as well as following all standard safety protocols. And at the end of it, he sat at his table eating a lukewarm hamburger and limp fries wishing for something more.

Hanukkah was over and he just wanted to take a breath, but it seemed like everyone wanted things done before people took Christmas vacations. And so, multiple times in the same week, he found himself ordering food from an app he thought he'd never use, and he hoped he wouldn't end up on some kind of "Are They Okay? Check on Your Homebound Neighbor," list.

He ordered a twice-baked pasta, something warm and comforting, and melted with gooey cheese; something he didn't have the patience to make himself. And then, because he was already indulging, he ordered a side of garlic bread and lied to himself that he'd split it into two meals.

He'd almost forgotten about delivery drivers completely. At least, that's what he'd told himself. But when the text message came in, his stomach flipped.

" _Eames is approaching with your order. Enjoy your meal!"_

Arthur immediately reached to smooth his hair, which was _ridiculous,_ and _insane_ , and what the actual fuck was wrong with him? This wasn't a date.

Except there was food. And he was fairly sure that last time there had been flirting. Well, from Eames anyway. He himself had probably come off as rude.

He went to put on a clean shirt. And a vest. And a decent tie.

The camera showed Eames' smiling eyes behind his mask, not that Arthur had been waiting anxiously in front of the monitor. He firmly attached his own mask and opened the door.

Eames had already placed his food on the porch and had been in the process of turning back to his car and Arthur panicked.

"What, no carol this time?"

Eames turned back, his eyes laughing, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Still no coat, but no elf hat or horrid sweater this time either. Arthur found himself wishing he could see his face again.

"Hello, darling," Eames said easily, like they were old friends. Or more. "What would you like to hear?"

Arthur scoffed. "I was kidding. Need a break from Christmas, actually."

And then he stood there like a dumbass, not knowing what to say next. God, why was he so bad at this?

"Well, I should probably—"

"What about—"

They both started and stopped at the same time, and Arthur felt his face flaming beneath his mask and awkwardly reached to adjust it.

"Sorry, love, what was that?"

"No, nothing," Arthur said quickly. "You probably have other deliveries to get to."

Eames shrugged one shoulder, which probably meant yes, and said, "You enjoy yours, though, alright? I triple-checked it to make sure it was all in there."

Arthur smiled so wide it hurt, grateful once again for the mask, and looked down at the bag. "Well, once again, I'm impressed, Mr. Eames."

He said it quietly, not 100% sure on the pronunciation, and not wanting to overstep. But he was pretty sure Eames was grinning under there and he nodded, so he must have done alright.

Eames walked back to his car, looking over his shoulder once and waving, and Arthur waved back. When he finally closed his door, he had the urge to lean dramatically against it like a teenager home from their first date. He shook his head at himself and went to go drown his feelings in carbs.

The next day at lunchtime, Arthur eyed his dwindling refrigerator contents and then looked guiltily at his phone. Should he? Again? If he did, he was definitely going to end up on some kind of list. But...Eames food.

With a groan, Arthur grabbed the last of the lunch meat and a package of tortillas and told himself to stop being pathetic.

Okay, but was it actually pathetic? Arthur asked himself as he spread mustard on his "sandwich". Eames was good looking. And funny. And a fair to decent singer who, the more Arthur thought about it, was almost definitely flirting with him. Arthur made a pros and cons in his head of shooting his shot and just asking Eames out. Was this the same as being the creepy asshole who flirted with their waitress when she couldn't tell him to fuck off? Was there a non-creepy way to ask out your waitress? Eventually, he stuffed the sustenance in his face and the list and thoughts of dashing door dashers to the back of his mind, and went back to work.

The thing about meals, Arthur's body reminded him, was that you needed to eat them fairly often and with some kind of regularity or there were generally consequences. Coffee only counted for a certain amount of time, and then you _needed_ to eat, _now._

Later, too much later, Arthur opened the refrigerator again and then closed it with a wince. He needed groceries if he was going to be a responsible adult and also survive until the end of this particular job. Maybe he'd just focus on surviving to the end of the year. Maybe next year would be better. He sighed. And maybe unicorns would take over the White House and give everyone magical candy and a puppy.

Arthur ordered groceries online and by the time he was done with that, his stomach was cramping so hard he thought he might pull a muscle. He shook his head at himself and opened the DoorDash app.

It was dark and starting to snow, and he didn't think of Eames as he sorted by shortest delivery time and picked the first thing on the menu. He'd never ordered supper from the app before, but the chances of Eames delivering food both day AND night were low. He made his peace with the inevitable letdown of both the driver and the food and pulled his laptop close again. He could get a few more things done before whoever it was showed up with whatever it was he'd ordered.

"Someday, when I'm awfully low..."

The sounds of music floated to him and Arthur froze.

"When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you."

He rose from his desk and made his way to the doorbell camera screen.

"And the way you look tonight."

Eames was standing on his porch, plastic bag in one hand and the other on his chest, singing.

"Oh, you're lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft, there is nothing for me but to love you. And the way you look tonight."

Arthur opened the door and leaned on the door jamb.

Eames' swung his arms wide, but he kept singing. "With each word, your tenderness grows, tearing my fear apart. And that laugh that wrinkles your nose touches my foolish heart."

Arthur shook his head, grinning. Snowflakes were catching in Eames' hair and his breath puffed through his mask into the night air.

"Lovely, never, ever change. Keep that breathless charm. Won't you please arrange it? Cause I love you. And the way you look tonight."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and clapped, and Eames took a deep bow, presenting the bag in his hand with a flourish.

"Thank you, thank you, darling. My pleasure."

Arthur took the bag, their fingers brushing. "Dinner and a show. How did I get so lucky?"

Eames shrugged, still looking chuffed. "Beats Christmas carols though, doesn't it?"

Arthur's pros and cons list pulled up in his head unbidden and he smiled at the bag before he looked up at Eames. "That it does. Thank you, Mr. Eames."

Eames leaned in, hands in his pockets, and said in a low voice, "You're welcome, Mr. Arthur."

Arthur felt himself blush and wished he put a mask on before opening the door. He was going to get COVID at the same time he was crushing on the delivery guy. Talk about embarrassing.

"So I have a question about your job," Arthur said, still leaning on the doorframe.

Eames raised an eyebrow. "This one? Or the other one?"

Arthur huffed a quiet laugh. "Do you get to choose which deliveries you do?"

Eames looked at him and Arthur wished he could see his _face_. "They offer you ones in your area and you can accept or reject them. But occasionally, a name will pop up that I recognize."

Arthur nodded. So Eames wasn't picking him out specifically and it really was just chance that he'd gotten Eames this many times. He was just being funny and probably extra kind because of the mixup, and Arthur was being a creepy asshole and reading into it.

"Well," Eames said, backing off the step, arms wide, "enjoy, Arthur Condon, carne asada with guac."

Arthur raised the bag in acknowledgment.

Well. That was that.

For the next few days, Arthur was pulling all-nighters, desperately trying to finish the work his clients wanted done by their stupid Christian deadlines. Virtual meeting after phone call after zoom call after hours staring at spreadsheets. It was enough to drive anyone bat shit crazy, but he swore it was the last such Christmas season he'd ever do this. Next year would be different. Next year would be better. Next year there would be unicorns.

"You deleted the app?" Ariadne asked him.

"Yeah," Arthur said, feet on the desk in front of him and phone to his ear. He twirled his spoon in his bowl of ice cream. "It's stupid. I didn't get delivery that often before the pandemic. I can make food."

"Yeah, but," Ari said, "what if he _was_ flirting with you?"

"He wasn't."

"But what if!"

"He _wasn't,_ Ari," Arthur said. "Just forget it. I'll go to bars again eventually. 2022 is going to be my year, I can feel it."

Ari groaned and Arthur took another spoonful of ice cream.

"You're killing me, Arthur. You should have asked him out. What was the worst thing that could happen?"

Arthur snorted. "I can name six without trying."

She sighed and he could hear her spoon clink against her own bowl on the other end of the line. He missed hanging out with her. This fucking year had lasted way too long.

"Do me a favor?" she asked, and he could see her brown puppy dog eyes even over the phone.

"What?"

"Re-download the app and order one more time."

Arthur groaned.

"Come on!" Ari cajoled. "It's Christmas!"

"I'm Jewish!"

"So?!" she squawked. "I'll only make you do it once, not eight times! If he brings the order, it means you guys are meant to be together and you _have_ to ask him out."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I can hear you rolling your eyes, Arthur," Ari said. "Come on. This is so Hallmark movie perfect! If you don't comply with the rules of Christmas movie miracle magic, it will make the universe implode."

"Is that so," Arthur said flatly.

"Mm hmm," she said sweetly. "Plus, you won't get laid until 2022."

He sighed. "Well, one of those sounds much worse than the other, but I guess we can't have the universe implode either."

"Yesssss!" she hissed joyously. "Okay okay okay, do it. Do it right now. Put me on speaker and do it right now. Are you doing it?"

"Christ, really?"

"Yes, really! The universe, Arthur!"

He sighed and put his spoon down. With Ari demanding updates every three seconds, Arthur downloaded the app again and signed in.

"Okay, so, schedule an order two days out, so he has time to see it and accept it," Ari commanded.

"Two days is Christmas Day," Arthur reminded her.

"Fine, one day."

Arthur rolled his eyes and picked the same burrito place he'd used in his first-ever DoorDash order. Carne asada with guac. Arthur wondered if he'd ever be able to eat one again without thinking of Eames.

"Did you do it?" Ari demanded.

"Yeah, I did it," Arthur said. This was so stupid. He was going to get some other driver, this time of all times, and he'd be stuck eating a burrito by himself on Christmas Eve and feeling worse than normal.

"Good," Ari chirped. "Okay, I have to go, but I swear to god, Arthur, if you don't keep me posted I will come over there and lick all your forks."

"Gross," Arthur intoned with a bored air. "Talk to you soon."

"Bye!"

He hung up and finished his ice cream slowly. When his phone buzzed with an incoming text, his heart leaped into his throat and he scrambled to read it, but it was just the app confirming his order. He sighed and pushed it away again.

Arthur had one of those dreams that night where he dreamt he woke up to find out he'd overslept and missed his deadlines, and then when he actually woke up for real, he was already tired.

But that meant it was here. Christmas Eve. If he'd scheduled everything correctly, he'd be done by midnight and could take Christmas off along with everyone else.

As he worked, he couldn't help but think about Eames. Actually, it was pretty handy to know that he didn't have to worry about stopping work to make a meal for one. And it was nice that for the first time in a long time, too long, almost a whole year, he had something he was looking forward to.

Yes, it was a carne asada burrito with guac, and yes, it was because the cute delivery driver might flirt with him when he brought it. Whatever. He was taking joy where he could find it. And he would never admit it, but Ari might have been right. Even if Eames wasn't specifically seeking Arthur out, if he'd been trying to tell him to fuck off, he didn't have to accept the deliveries. Right?

Right.

He frowned at himself and focused on work.

When his phone buzzed at a quarter to noon, Arthur eyed it with apprehension. Then he wheeled himself away from his keyboard to flip his phone over, squinting one eye closed as he peeked at the notification.

" _Eames is approaching with your order. Enjoy your meal!"_

Arthur punched the air, his chair spinning.

Exhilarated, his heart pumping, he realized he hadn't actually thought it was going to happen. With a grin, he forwarded the text to Ari and ran to change. He came back to 37 texts, all of them a tongue emoji followed by a fork.

This time he was waiting at the door when Eames pulled up.

Eames sat in his car for a few moments doing something Arthur couldn't see, but when he finally clambered out, he had a bag firmly in hand. His mask didn't show his smile when he saw Arthur but his eyes did, and Arthur's stomach flip-flopped at that.

"We meet again, darling," Eames said, and held out his food, keeping a respectful distance.

Arthur took it with a raised eyebrow. "You know, Mr. Eames, while I'm always glad to see you have actual food, I think I missed out when I turned down your first delivery."

Eames laughed. "Is that so?"

Arthur shifted his weight and the bag in his hand. "Look, I wanted to ask you something, and I know you're at work right now, but the truth is, I don't know how to do this during a plague. Normally I'd ask you if you wanted to get a drink."

Eames chuckled and crossed his arms, and Arthur held his breath.

With one finger, Eames pulled his mask off, and then he fucking _beamed_ at him. Arthur couldn't stop the joy he felt from spreading over his face and he ducked his head because looking at Eames' exuberance for any length of time was overwhelming.

"And here I was worried you only wanted me for my food."

Arthur pulled at his ear, and then his mask. "Is that a yes?"

"Well, maybe not a drink," Eames said, still smiling. "But you could call me sometime?"

Arthur nodded happily. "Yeah. I could do that."

Eames gave him the number and he typed it in, sending him a text that said Arthur Condon, burrito with guac.

Eames pulled his phone out of his back pocket and chuckled when he saw the text. "I'm changing it to Arthur Condon, dimples and tie."

Arthur laughed, a loud, happy sound, and it felt good. He felt good. "I guess I'll talk to you later, then?"

Eames grinned, wide and wonky, and Arthur's heart tripped over itself. "Happy Christmas, darling."

And it was. It really was.


End file.
